


Runaway(1976)

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Closeted Character, I usually don't like OCs and I don't usually write them but this gal's kind of important, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Johnny'll come out just give him some time, Kind of a slow burn not too much, M/M, Sex, Slow Burn, Super gay but it won't seem so at first, To me OCs are usually turn offs when it comes to fanfic so just know there was no other option
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23486179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: Johnny Cade doesn't like to remember his past, and he especially doesn't like to think about Dallas Winston. But there's something about almost getting married that makes him buy a plane ticket to New York.~~~~~~I'll try to update as much as possible
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston
Comments: 19
Kudos: 39





	1. Proposals & Fathers

**Author's Note:**

> Basic story: Johnny's getting married to this chick and he's kind of panicking, just a little. Cue poor choice making.  
> So after writing my first multi-chapter Jally fic, No More Sunsets, I kind of realized that I made Johnny a little perfect. So I was like, let's write a fanfic in Johnny's POV, because I physically can not write a perfect main character, they have to be at least slightly evil or low-key annoying. But I DIDN'T. I started working on a fic that was in Dally's POV! And, yes, Johnny was far from perfect and I gave him and Dally an equal amount of flaws, but it's so weird and it's an AU and there's a lot of story shifting going on so I'm going down this path. This fic is a lot shorter than the other would be, so it should be easy to crank out, annnd Johnny's the main character. It's not an AU, it follows the same story as the OG, but there's just a huge-ass time jump. 11 years to be precise. So liiikkekekek, enjoy... I guess????

There was a certain panic in my mind when she told me. In all honesty, I think my heart skipped a beat or two. I read that phrase in novels and liked to imagine that the cardiovascular system's failure to properly function was romantic, but I now understand that it's anything but. It's actually terrifying, like falling in a deep, dark hole and knowing, definitively, that there's no way of you ever getting out.

I was naked, she was naked, and there was that pit in my stomach, that vomit in my throat. She caressed my head and ran her gentle fingers through my hair. I forced myself to look at her and maintain contact with her green eyes.

Her words were more like a gentle breath than a voice, "I love you."

My response was perfectly timed, impeccably rehearsed. Not too fast, not too slow, a hint of sincerity, no over-affection. "I love you too."

And it is easy to love someone.

That's when it happened. A gentle peck on my lips, more nails skimming my shoulder blade, and then, the inevitable accumulation of ten years. "When are you going to ask me to marry you?"

There was the skip, the failure in the blood flow. "What?"

I had said the wrong thing, I could see the mistake in the furrow of her brows. The gentle crease of her forehead indicated her disappointment. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

"No, I just-"

"We've been together for ten years, Johnny. Is it so unreasonable to ask for a marriage?"

"I'm not saying that-"

"Then what's the problem?" A voice crack, a slightly trembling lip. Her eyes began to water. I reached out to touch her shoulder and she allowed it- she was desperate for a connection she sensed I was not providing. "Why don't you want to marry me? Is it me?"

"It's not you."

"Then what is it?"

I licked my lips. "I'm just waiting for the right time."

"When is the right time?" She asked. 

I wouldn’t know. I guess… 

"Now."

I didn't think she'd believe me in the moment. But her eyes lit up and her dimples revealed themselves in her freckled cheeks. 

It's easy to love Lisa. I don't have to pretend that I enjoy hugging her and smelling her perfume. I don't have to pretend that I like touching her hair and the plume of floral scents she leaves in the restroom after she showers. I don't mind eating breakfast with her or talking with her or falling asleep beside her or kissing her cheek before she leaves for her house.

But I do wish that I could love her the way she wants me to. I wish I could love her the way she loves me. I wish I could love her enough to stomach having sex her and to stomach the thought of children with her. 

I wish I wanted to marry her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some eleven years ago, my father and I had critical epiphanies. Coincidentally, our two enlightenments were both spurred on by near-death experiences. Having a doctor tell you that you may not be able to walk again changes your perspective of life. And I can only imagine that the same could be said once you experience an alcohol-induced coma.

Which had been a reality for my father.

The day I left the hospital, the doctors told me my parents were waiting for me to come home. I immediately thought of death. I thought of the moments before my knife pierced through a boy's vest, the ones where I contemplated on how meaningless my existence was. I had wished for an end too many times to count, and when it had come to me, I had to choose between resistance and submission. 

The moment I decided to repel what I had been aching for since I was thirteen was the moment I realized I wanted more in life.

I pretended that I didn't know my parents for four months. In that time, I was tossed around my friends' houses, mainly Dallas's room at Buck's. I wore their clothes and helped them cook. I did laundry and chores and attempted to garner a new family. 

But I feel that Lisa and I have something in common. When we love, we grasp at empty space in the hopes of catching some affection. We occasionally feel some reciprocated warmth, but not the heat that we need to survive or feel whole.

When Darry told me that my father was in the hospital, I felt that desperateness. Dallas told me that he wasn't worth my fear, the Curtis brothers told me that it wouldn't be any good to visit him. In the end, I listened to the aching of my heart instead of the words of my friends.

At the hospital, my mother hugged me when she saw me, and she whispered into my curls that she missed me. We held hands as we sat in the waiting room, and she assured me that my father wanted to see me whenever I began to fidget. I saw no anger on his face as we entered his room. There was no kind expression in his wrinkles but a spark still lit in my chest. I imagined that his eyes softened when he saw me.

I tried my best not to scoff when he said, “I found Jesus.”

My mother did not reveal a hint of disbelief, her grip on his hand tightened. But I thought of all the times my father had found Jesus and then lost him after a drink of tequila.

My momentary incredulity faded once he placed his callous palm on my arm. It was hard not to jump back from the touch, or stop myself from shivering. He took my gaze in his and firmly said, “I’m so sorry, Johnny.”

My father would have an occasional moment of kindness. Sometimes he taught me how to make his traditional minestra, sometimes he would offer to teach me how to drive, and sometimes he would refrain from snapping at me. But in all of his rare times of benignity, he never once said sorry.

His words were almost too much to bear, but I did not cry in the fear that he would soon retract them.

And though I felt guilty, I was right to be skeptical of my father’s reformation. I’ll agree that he no longer is the man he once was, but it seems that he’s now only a slightly updated version of himself. He still wants what he wants when he wants it and how it wants it, but he’ll only yell, he won’t break things-not a glass nor an arm.

When I finally figured out that Lisa was visiting my usual hangouts because she was interested in me and not one of my friends, my father was the first person to clap me on the back. And he was the first to celebrate when I proposed.

I got her father’s blessing and went ring shopping with our mother’s. My father heard the traveling news and sat me down for a “long-overdue” talk about relationships and marriage. I sat patiently and did my best not to vomit as he imparted his knowledge of love, sex, and children. 

He cracked a joke, or attempted to, about beating a child.

“That’s what the bible says to do, right?”

I didn’t laugh. He coughed and moved on.

It eventually occurred to me that my father began to truly consider me his son once I dated a woman. I assume that, before, he must have feared for me. Perhaps that would explain the beatings, or maybe the constant pressure to ask that “pretty girl” out. I suppose he was rightfully skeptical as well.

I’ve always been unsure how to feel about the attention. How should I react to the high fives and the ‘hey kiddo’s and the ‘bud’s when I’ve never dealt with them before? Ironically, I’ve found it’s much easier to cope with a belt to my ass than a pat on my back.

But I still feel guilty for not trusting him, when it’s obvious that he’s trying.

His intentions must be to make me happy. I say this as I listen to marriage speeches and as I drink morning coffee with him. I say this as he smiles and as he laughs. What helps me most is to remember the past-which I hate to do. I remember myself as a child in his arms, on his lap, unafraid of his grin. I try to revert to that feeling. It’s hard.

His warmth feels like plastic when he claps my shoulder. We look in the mirror together and sometimes I see two strangers, sometimes I see the same person-I don’t know what reflection I fear more. I know that what he really cares about is the second chance that I am. I’m his opportunity for a different life, the one he’s living through me. That’s why I make him so unhappy, that’s why I make him so elated. I’m his ticket.

He’s getting married to a young, beautiful girl who doesn’t hate his guts and doesn’t drink wine every night. He’s a young man in his prime and not a middle-aged, rehabilitated addict. He’s a proud boy marrying into a wealthy, white family and not the son of Italian immigrants who was called “dago” left and right throughout his childhood.

He loves me less than he loves himself. He always has.

My feelings for my father are as confusing as my feelings for my fiance. They’re similar in the fact that they both make me want to run away instead of marry.


	2. Cold Feet & Douchebags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does it need explaining??? Johnny is not in the mood for exchanging vows rn

Ponyboy sets my mug in front of me. “How are you feeling?”

I take the warmth in my palm and blow against the rising steam. “As good as I can, I guess.”

I told Ponyboy when I was 17, after Lisa and I had first fucked in her empty house. I cried all night and expected him to leave me alone in disgust. And then tell his brothers, and then the entire school, then the entire town about his repulsive, unholy friend. I cried when he hugged me. And I broke when he told me he loved me the same.

Ponyboy had always been the family I needed. As he grew, he became the words to comfort me, the advice that was vital to my sanity. His maturity bloomed in a beautiful and unexpected way, one that helped me breathe a little easier. 

He always told me it'd be best if I left Lisa. I never listened. Ten years later, I'm finally feeling the sting of that decision.

“Well, what do you want to do?” He sits across from me and places a sliced lemon on his glass. Slowly, he sips his iced tea. 

Coffee is the singular thing I’ve perpetually enjoyed in the past months of my life. I take a break from my gentle blowing and bring my mug to my lips. I breathe out softly. “I’m six months in, I can’t back out now.”

He looks up at me with wide eyes. “You don’t want to get married.”

“I have no choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“The date’s in two months. We have a venue, a wedding planner, a catering service planned. She’s looking at houses to move into after the honeymoon.” I sigh. “Three-bedroom houses. An extra room for guests and-”

“A room for a baby?” He asks.

“Yes.”

His mouth sets in a firm line. I can see his hazel eyes studying me. “You don’t want to get married.”

I put my mug down and shift around some papers we’ve set on the table, rolling my sleeves up and taking a pen into my fingers. "She's already made her guest list, I still need to make mine."

"Johnny-"

"I don't really know who to invite," I say. My words sound rushed. 

Ponyboy caves. His sigh is long and languid as he rests his chin in his hand. "Your friends."

"I know that," I say. "But who? I don’t have many friends.”

“What about your, I don’t know, acquaintances? People you work with, have connections to?”

“Lisa already has them listed, since they’re all connected to her dad.”

“High school friends.”

I look up at him. “You and the gang.”

His eyebrows raise. “We were your only friends.”

“I was pathetic. I still am."

“What about after you started dating Lisa? She was real popular. You still didn’t have any friends?”

“I didn’t ask to be humiliated.”

“You also didn’t ask to get married.”

I throw my pen at him, he catches it with his free hand but fumbles and pokes himself in the eye. My satisfaction allows my next words to be cocky. “I did. I proposed. Romantically.”

“You proposed at the Spaghetti Inn.”

“And?”

“That’s not romantic.”

I reach over the table to smack his head and retrieve my pen. Then I scribble on my paper as I settle back down. “Okay. You, Darry, Soda, Steve, Keith, and…” I sit straight and scratch my head. “That’s all of them, right?”

Ponyboy shrugs. “I guess.”

“I feel like I’m missing someone."

He hums and sets his glass of tea on the table, counting on his fingers as he lists, “Darry, Soda, Keith, Steve, and…” His voice trails off and his eyes widen. “Shoot, we are missing someone.”

I start massaging my temple. “God, this is gonna make my head hurt.” 

Ponyboy counts again, hesitates, then counts a few more times before his shoulders relax. There’s a strange look on his face as he turns back to me. “Oh shit, Johnny. I know who we’re missing.”

“Who?”

“Dally."

"Oh."

It sucks, honestly, not being able to stop the memories from flooding my brain. Well, they're less of memories and more like emotions, kind of crashing down over me like a wave. I don't remember the details of the day the news came. Not what I ate for breakfast or what I wore or how I styled my hair. I remember how I felt. 

Dal had been gone for four months. Four months. Darry came into the living room and casually announced that he had left for New York, and he wasn't coming back. I felt emptiness, absolute desolation. Frustration at the perfunctory way everyone handled the situation, with a simple shrug of their shoulders. While I, on the other hand, wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to ask why he would ever do this to me. But no one had the answer. 

I never imagined, in all the years I had known him, that I could ever hate Dallas Winston. I don't ever want to remember that. And I don't want to remember the betrayal I felt. I decide to, instead, shrug it off. Like everyone else does.

The most important person in my life abandoned me without so much as a goodbye? Oh well, I'm over it. 

Pony's there to snap me back into reality. "Are you going to invite him?" 

"You're fucking kidding, right?"

He holds his hands up. "Sorry, I was just asking."

"Why would he want to come to my wedding?"

"Okay, John, I was just saying-"

"He hasn't talked to me in nine years."

"Alright, let's drop-"

"Nine years. That's almost a decade without a letter or a word-"

"I get it, I get it," he says. "He's not invited. Why did I even bring it up?"

I'm biting my tongue, trying my best not to mention how this will bother me for the rest of the day. Maybe even for another year. Maybe, selfishly enough, for my entire marriage. 

"But you seem pretty sure he won't want to come to your wedding."

I sigh. "He won't." 

"Why, though?"

"Because he hasn't talked to me for-"

"Almost a decade, I know, I know. Don't you think, though, that's more reason for him to want to see you? It's been so long and you guys were so close-"

"Not that close."

"You liked him a lot, though-"

"He never liked me, that's for sure."

There's a certain glint in Ponyboy's eyes, the face he made when he was a kid. Mischievous and constantly looking for another stupid way to prove himself to whatever. There's a plan in the map of his skin, I can see it.

"You should just ask him and see what happens."

"Ask him?"

"Yeah."

"How? I don't even know where-"

"Darry can ask him."

I'm silent for a moment. "Darry?"

"Yeah, him and Dally keep in touch. Dally sends him letters, like, once every three months, maybe?"

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

I can feel my blood boiling, ever so slightly, beneath my skin. I'm glad, for once, for my darkness, I don't redden easily. My cheeks are heated but at least they're not pink. I keep trying to shut my brain down, to stop it from thinking. That's when things start to get dangerous.

It's idiotic to think that I was ever special to him. I wonder what gave me that thought. I'm trying to remember what gave me that thought. I'm sure I didn't just manifest some imaginary emotions. There must have been a catalyst to my theory, but I can't think of one.

Did he ever look at me the way I thought he did? Did he ever talk to me differently than others?

I must have made it up. Because if it was all real then he wouldn't have left, he would have at least left a note. He would be sending me letters, not Darry. 

"You're upset."

"I'm not."

"Why can't you just admit he meant a lot to you?"

I'm still biting my tongue.

"I mean, John, he was there for you when I was too stupid to realize you were hurting. He fucking cleaned you up when your dad beat you, he meant a lot, we all saw it. I just don't get why you're pretending."

"Cause," I say softly. "He ruined my life, a little bit, and it hurts to think about it. I'd rather think about things that make me happy."

"This wedding does not make you happy."

"You know me too well."

My eyes are settled on my lackluster guest list, but I feel the warmth of Pony's hand as it slides over mine. I refuse to look at him. 

"I think the least we can do is bring you a bit of happiness. You've got to let go of your stubbornness, just a little bit of it. Not too much."

I pull my hand away and pick up my pen. "Okay, so Darry, Keith, Soda…"


	3. Surprises & Dissapointment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ponyboy doesn't listen to Johnny, because when does he ever???? And then Johnny gets sad about stuff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is supposed to be a short fanfic for me to just satisfy my writing side before I start writing the big stuff, like this huge Jally fanfic I have planned, so don't expect for this plot point to be too long. I'm trying to get through it as soon as possible. Aight, enjoy!!!

The week starts with Ponyboy cornering me at dinner.

My parents don't like to dine with the Curtis's, they quietly resent how they stole my childhood from them. I don't have the heart to tell them that they didn't steal anything, they just found value in the property my parents had deemed useless. 

But Lisa and her family love them. They're respectable people of the lower class who have good manners and proper family values, the simple recipe into her parent's hearts. 

Every once in a while, we all gather like some picturesque Thanksgiving painting. We eat food and converse and pretend that the past never happened. The Curtis brothers used to be bitter about having to face my parents like this, but for my sake, they were good sports about it. 

The night begins with us ringing the doorbell and Darry welcoming us into the house. I hug him, Lisa kisses his cheek, her mother, Mary, does the same, and Robert, her father, gives his hand a firm shake.

"Darrell, good to see you."

"How's the job been?"

"Find a wife lately?"

"You're such a lovely young man."

The atmosphere among us is pleasant as we shuffle into his home. Ponyboy comes out of his room and greets the guests with respectful chit-chat and neutral political conversation. Robert and Mary are soon eating out of his palm.

We all sit down at the dining table and display our gifts of food and drink. Mary has brought some wine and Darry made casserole. 

"Johnny, will your parents be joining us for dinner?"

"Unfortunately no, but they want you to know that they would have loved to be here.”

From the corner of my eye, I can see Ponyboy snicker behind his palm. I shoot him a glare.

“What are your thoughts on the upcoming election?”

“I’m really hoping that Ford can pull through.”

“The casserole is lovely, Darrell.”

“Mama’s recipe.”

“Such lovely young boys.”

I feel a small poke on my hand and turn my head to see Pony staring at me with wide eyes. “Hey, Johnny.”

I take a break from my casserole and decide to quietly indulge him. “What?”

“Can we talk for a second?”

I quickly glance around the table and then fold the napkin in my hands. I nod to Ponyboy and slowly get up from my chair. “Uh, me and Pony’ll be right back.”

“Pony and I,” Robert corrects with a smile.

I give him a polite laugh and then retreat to the hallway, Pony at my heels. When we’re secluded, he grabs my arm firmly to catch my attention.

“Alright, alright, what is it?”

“I did it. I had Darry send him a letter.”

“Send who a letter?”

“You know who, Dallas.”

And there it is again, my heartbeat skipping. It’s so palpable I have to clasp my chest, just to make sure nothing bursts out of it. I feel so dizzy that I might fall, so I blindly reach for the wall behind me for balance. 

"You what?"

Pony is painfully oblivious to my shock, it's evident in his ever growing smile. "I had Darry send him a letter about the wedding. He asked him if he'd be interested in coming."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

His expression drops. "You're mad."

I nod. "I'm mad."

"Why? Didn't we agree to do this?"

"What? When?"

"The other day, when you were making a guest list-"

"No, stop. My point is that I never actually agreed to that."

"I thought we came to a stalemate?"

"Pony, you're delusional. We never came to a stalemate. I told you that I did not want him involved."

"But I-"

"You just don't listen to me-"

"Why are you getting so upset about this?" He asked, bringing his hands to his hips. "I mean, what's the big issue with Dallas knowing about your wedding?"

The back of my neck begins to burn. "It's just, well, it's complicated."

Pony's eyebrow raises suspiciously. "How complicated?"

I don't answer.

"Jesus Christ, did you two use to fuck?"

I nearly jump in my effort to shut him up. "No! Oh my God, can you be any more loud? No, we used to nothing! It has nothing to do with that."

He moves away from my hands. "Well, for a second it seemed like something else was going on."

"I told you all I needed to tell you. He was very important to me and he broke my trust. And I'm not very good when it comes to grudges, so there's that."

"Like the grudge against your parents?"

"Pony-"

"Yeah, you really held a lifetime of abuse over their heads when they did nothing to deserve your forgiveness."

"Can you please stop?"

He sighs. "Look, Johnny, I'm just saying that maybe you should look past all that stuff. I mean, you meant a lot to Dally too, we all saw it. I'm sure he never meant to hurt you like this. Maybe you can work something out."

"I-"

"And what's done is done, Darry sent him a letter about your wedding. There's nothing we can do about it."

I slowly deflate from my defensive position and lean against the wall, bringing my tired hands to my face, holding in a scream. "I really hate you sometimes, you know that?"

Pony’s hand lands on my shoulder. “And I love you. That’s why I did this for you.” A small laugh escapes him. “Maybe, I don’t know, you just need some closure.”

I nod slowly. “Alright. But don’t be disappointed when nothing comes back.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pony’s not the one who’s disappointed when nothing comes back. I am.

It’s inevitable, really. If I even hear the name ‘Dallas Winston’ the noise rings in my ears like an insufferable pain for days and days. And then he becomes all I think about, for the first time in years.

Well, maybe not years. I always allow myself to spare one thought of him every occasional month. Sometimes on my birthday. My birthday where I hear his low voice whisper in my mind, “This day should be a national holiday, fuck Christmas.”

I often wonder if the voice I imagine is actually his, it’s been so long since I last heard it. In the depths of my brain, in my memories, it’s deep, not too deep, but a nice little ocean. Because it was smooth, there were these pleasant little cracks, particularly as he yelled, but it could be so soft. Sometimes, he’d say something to a girl and I would blush just by overhearing it. 

And I remember his eyes, most of all. Too blue to forget. And mean and hard, like ice. But, if you were lucky enough to be there, they’d melt and pool, almost like a child. I can’t deny there was some weird beauty about him. Pony didn’t think so, he always said that he looked like an elf. But I saw something that every girl in Tulsa must have seen too. How irresistible he was. And as I picture him in these later years, a picture that may not even resemble how he actually looked, I still feel that pull, that tug on my heart.

I’ve always been a mess for him. And the last thing I wanted was to be a mess during my wedding.

A part of me doesn't want him to come. What will I do? What will I say? How will I stop myself from looking at him during the ceremony, pleading desperately for an end to it. Pleading silently for the possibility of something improbable.

But now that he knows, how will I feel knowing that he doesn’t want to see me?

Well, I’ll feel disappointed.

“Nothing?” I ask Ponyboy.

He shrugs while filling a bowl with popcorn. “Darry says he said nothing.”

“What does that mean? Did he even bring it up?”

“Apparently not. Hey, Keith, you want extra butter?”

“You bet your ass I do!” Keith calls from the living room, bundled in a bunch of blankets.

“What did Darry write?”

“What?” Pony asks incredulously, syruping the popcorn with melted butter.

“What did he write to him? What exactly did he say when he asked about my wedding?”

“Uhhh,” he bites his lip, “‘Johnny’s getting married in a few months, we’re wondering if you feel like coming’ I guess? I don’t know.”

“Did he write anything else?”

“Probably, I don’t know.”

“Pony,” I say firmly, grabbing him by the arm to turn his attention to me. I try to whisper so no one can hear. “This was your idea, alright? I asked you not to do this and you said you wanted me to have closure. So now I’m pacing up and down, walking all over the walls, wondering what the issue with Dallas is even though I haven’t in years and that’s because of you. I’m thinking about him because of you. And the least you could do is be straightforward with me and answer my questions.”

Pony sighs and puts the bowl of popcorn down. “Look, John. I feel-uh-I guess I feel kind of embarrassed. I really wanted this for you and, I don't know. I mean, you being so stressed with the wedding and all, so unhappy… I thought that all those years of being good friends, I thought it would really amount to something. I thought you’d be happy knowing he wants to be there for you, I thought he’d be happy knowing that you’re still thinking about him. And I feel really bad now because, well, it turns out-”

“I was right,” I say softly.

Pony nods his head solemnly. “Yeah. It sucks, but… and I don’t want to say this, cuz it seems insensitive. I guess… I guess he really doesn’t care. That’s just Dallas, nine years and he hasn’t changed. I’m kind of pissed, actually, you’d think he’d get over his pride. The guy’s almost thirty and he’s still the same seventeen year old JD, it sucks. Especially for you.”

“Whatever,” I shrug. “Whatever, I expected this anyways.”

“Johnny-”

“You know, I’m glad though. I’m glad because for years I’ve been wondering ‘does this mean he never cared about me?’ But you are a good friend, Pony, because you did give me closure. And that closure is that he never did. He never once did. Goddamn hood, had us all fooled, right? Had me fooled. He’s good.”

Pony’s eyes are wide and knowing. “I know it hurts, Johnny.”

“I’m not hurt, Pony. I’m fucking relieved. Nine years and I’m finally free to forget about him. That’s relief.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if 'syruping' is a word. Maybe I made it up, maybe I'm the next Shakespeare. 
> 
> Never mind, it's low-key a word.
> 
> Wow, this is quite a short chapter.


	4. Makeup & Condoms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sadboy hours. Johnny isn't very horny right now, thank you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's almost 2:30 and I'm delirious but I insisted on finishing a chapter before i uploaded this so I could stay ahead by two chapters, is this what drugs feel like?

The strangest things send me spiraling.

Well, I wouldn't exactly say that a second and more painful rejection from Dallas Winston is a strange reason, no it’s a fairly reasonable reason. 

And I've taken my last blow. Saturday morning arrives and no one visits me then, so I have the day to myself to mope on my bed for hours. In moments like these, all I'm in the mood for is coffee and sleep. And maybe I can muster enough motivation to write

Though, I can barely lift my head a certain way.

I’ve been skimming on thin ice all week. Waking up later than usual, not bothering to shower before work, writing, writing, writing, getting home, smiling and nodding to whatever Lisa says, sleeping, sleeping, sleeping. And mountains of coffee. I can't keep it up, not with how my mind feels.

I couldn't tell Lisa about it, she would never understand. She might be the sweetest person I’ve had the pleasure of knowing, but she’s awfully oblivious. I may be halfheartedly going along with her innocuous conversation or totally absentminded during sex, but whatever I do, she fails to notice it. 

And I feel that if I were to tell her, “hey, I’m feeling under the weather right now and I don’t wish to be spoken to,” she still wouldn't get it.

Not to mention the fact that my emotions never enter the realm of our daily conversations. Because, well, how I feel is dangerous. How I feel can ruin an engagement.

Marriage forces you to think about things, as does lying in a bed all day, doing nothing other than swimming in your thoughts. And I think about the rest of my life, as a husband with a wife and children. I think about my own eternity spent suppressing myself, repressing how I feel, all for the sake of others. 

And of all I've committed to for my relationship, monogamy, sex, giving all I am and all I have, what I've never committed to is honesty. Telling Lisa about my emotions, telling her about who I am.

And people like Ponyboy may see that and think the sure way out is just to tell the truth. From a bird's eye view it all seems so easy.

But it's not, because my relationship with Lisa is a lot more than just my relationship with her. It's my job, chief editor of her father's newspaper, and it's my house, bought with checks from work and loans her parents insisted I have. And my life, the places I've been, the people I've met, the fact that I'm no longer seen by society as a degenerate murder, but instead as a reformed dark boy who has joined the ranks of the high class. And my friends, the people I've been lying to my whole life. And worst of all, my parents. Who now see me as their pride and joy all because I'm a soon-to-be-husband off to do some great things.

If I let go of Lisa, I let go of everything. All that I know and all that I've been for the past decade. I've lived a lie for so long, now it's just who I am, I can't put my life on hold. And if I'm speaking my truth to be happy then what's the point if it ruins everything I've come to love?

There is no point. And throughout my life, I've learned to be silent about how I feel-it's not worth hearing anyways.

And throughout the week, I’ve kept quiet about how I felt, especially to Lisa. As far as she’s concerned, I’m perfectly healthy. I never considered omitting certain facts of my personal life to be wrong.

But maybe I could have prevented the knock on my door if I had said something.

Then I wouldn’t be in this predicament, bundled in blankets, smelling like body and odor and coffee breath, wondering if the few strides to my front door would be worth it. I groan, get up, and make my way out of my room, all the while contemplating who it may be. 

It's not Ponyboy. He wouldn't give up a Saturday unless there was an emergency present, specifically an emergency involving me. Darry dates on Saturdays, Keith never visits, and Soda and Steve never leave the house. And, inevitably, my mind narrows down to one option.

My hands are already on the lock when I groan. "Fucking hell. Fuck me with a fucking stick of butter."

There’s a creak and a blast of morning light as the door opens. Lisa stands in front of me with her chestnut hair pulled back and her smile bright. “Hi, sweetie!”

I allow myself to lean forward when she kisses me, and I drape a lazy arm over her back, halfheartedly pulling her closer. “Hey.”

She pulls back and wrinkles her nose. “Wow. Honey, I love you but your breath reeks.” She takes off her heels as she pushes past me and inside the house. “Like a dead body and coffee.”

I gesture to the mug in my hand with a nod. “Yup, coffee.”

She looks around the house, sometimes picking misplaced items up and setting them where they belong, sometimes folding discarded clothes, shuffling stuff here and there. “Sweetie, why didn’t you invite me here earlier? The house is a mess.”

“Well,” I shrug, “I won’t be here for long, anyways, why bother taking care of it?”

Her eyes light up. “Aw, sweetie.” She walks over to me and kisses me quickly. “That would be such a sweet sentiment if you bothered to pack, which is why I’m here.”

My stomach drops. Everything begins to feel too real to fully comprehend. It’s still hard for me to believe that, in a few months, I’ll be living in a world where I can no longer fantasize about different possibilities. I’ll have reached a point of no return.

My voice is small as I squeak out, “To help me pack?”

“Yes,” she says cheerfully. “Do you still have the carryon from our Florida trip?”

“Uh,” I scratch my head. “Uh, yeah, yeah, I do.” I set my mug down on the kitchen table. “Let me just go find it.”

Lisa grabs my arm. “Wait, before you do that, let’s look around the house for stuff you want to take. Clothes, items, anything. Let’s make a big pile in the living room and we’ll sift through it.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she says, strolling over to the T.V. and picking up a picture frame. “Aw, how about this? It’s so cute!”

I look at the photo, recognizing myself at eighteen and her at seventeen, standing by a freshly bought Chevrolet. Lisa had begged her father to buy me one, which he did despite my insisting otherwise. And my parents hated the idea of me not working to earn it, but soon changed their mind after a quick conversation with Mary and Robert. I remember feeling uncomfortable about the entire situation, but my friends thought it was cool and Lisa was so happy and I grinned despite it all. I was smiling in that picture, and it was slightly forced but a little natural. I had a car, a car that would lead to a lot of late nights and a few drunk drives and the inevitable loss of virginity. Some of the worst moments of my life occurred in that car. 

“The first time we made love was in that car,” Lisa says dreamily. “It was the best night of my life.” She looks up at me. “Was it yours?”

I hesitate for a moment. “The best night of my life hasn’t even happened yet, honey. And it’s gonna be the night of our wedding.”

“You’re so sweet,” She cooes, nuzzling my neck. “We have to take this picture. I was so skinny when I was younger, I need that motivation to lose weight.”

“It wasn’t that long ago, and you still look great.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I do.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” she says deep in her throat, her fingers reaching up to my collarbone. “Really?”

I know what’s happening as soon as her lips graze my neck. “Lisa, I thought I smelled like a dead body and coffee.”

“You don’t,” she hums, “Your breath does.” She steps away from me and swats my ass. “Go brush your teeth and I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”

“Okay.” Fuck me with a stick of butter and spread me out on motherfucking toast.

The sink water runs and I can still hear Lisa as she undoes the buttons of her blouse and lets her hair down. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but it’s so loud. This is, definitively, the last thing I need today. It’s just another slippery worm slithering into my thoughts, convincing me that life couldn’t get any worse. Because I can’t imagine it, sex with Lisa, as her husband, for the rest of my life. I can barely stand it now.

I spit out foamy water and slip off my shirt, taking a quick look at myself in the mirror. At the very least, I’m flattered that Lisa is so sexually attracted to me. Since I was six maybe, I’ve been looking in the mirror for a certain reflection-an ideal one, a perfect one. In my childhood, I would watch my mother cake her face in makeup, and I’d listen as she’d sing. She told me it was to hide her imperfections and to highlight her best features.

One time, and it was only once, she caught me rummaging through her draws, with red smeared from my lips to my chin, and mascara on my cheeks. She looked around quickly to see if my father was home, and then sat me on a chair, turned me to face the mirror, and said softly, “Mira, mi amor. Te enseñaré cómo hacerlo bien.”

She told me she would teach me how to do it right. And I looked intently, making damn sure I would never forget those twenty minutes of my life, because I knew it would never happen again. A powder for my skin, dark and sun kissed. A light pink on my cheeks, with a feathery, gentle touch. A smear of dark brown on my eyelid(“cierra tus ojos, mijo”). Rouge on my lips and a brush to shape my eyebrows. It was the first time I looked in the mirror and saw something worthwhile.

“Te gusta, mijo?”

“I love it, mamá.”

“Johnny,” Lisa calls sensually from my bedroom.

In the reflection, I notice that one of my eyes begins to water. I take a deep breath and push it all down, the lump in my throat, the headache at my temple. I reach in a drawer for a condom and yell, “Coming, honey.”

I notice her draped on my bed, in nothing but a bra and underwear. I avoid anything but eye contact as I sit next to her, smiling gently, the mattress groaning under my weight. She leans close, eyes shut, lips inches from mine. I let her, concealing my vision, manifesting a different reality behind my closed eyelids. But I notice that she stops. I open my eyes and see her staring intently at the condom in my hand.

She looks up at me, and says in a hopeful voice, “We don’t need protection.”

I almost laugh. “Why?”

“I want to start working on it, now.”

“Working on…”

She chuckles and takes my hand in hers. “A baby, Johnny.” 

“...”

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

I open my mouth, then close it.

“Johnny, what’s wrong?”

“I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

“I promised Ponyboy I’d do something today. That’s why I wasn’t packing, I had to leave, anyways.”

“Johnny-”

I get up from the bed swiftly and rush towards the restroom. “I should take a shower before I go, I haven’t washed myself all day.”

“Johnny, wait. I know you’re scared. It’s a big commitment-”

“Let’s talk later!” I say. As she strides towards me, mouth wide to object, I close the door in her face.


	5. Letters & Tempations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is supposed to be a short, fun, quick writing project so we're getting into the meat of the story fairly quickly. Don't expect to wait for the plot for too long

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't updated these past few Fridays because I just thought I needed a break, not because the chapters weren't ready, but I didn't feel ready. Now we're back on schedule. Please excuse typos or errors, I've reread these chapters millions of times and I just got fuxking bored. Enoy!!!

“Johnny!” Ponyboy says as he opens the door.

I rush past him, running trembling fingers through my wet hair. “Pony, I think I need some coffee.”

He eyes me suspiciously and crosses to the kitchen. “Do you not have any at home?”

“No, I do, but you have the caramel cream and I want caramel. Do you have any chocolate here?”

He closes the cabinet he just opened and sets the coffee mix down. He stares at me intently, pursing his lips and setting his jaw. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He crosses his arms.

“Okay, I do. But not right now.”

Ponyboy sighs and reaches for his coffee machine, I take the time of silence to sit down at the kitchen table. It’s right in front of a window, so I soak up the sun that pours through the glass and allow it to calm me down. Slowly, and focusing on the comfort around me like the aroma of the brewing coffee and the warmth on my back, I relax.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Pony says, sitting in front of me. His lips slowly grow into a soft smile.

“Really?”

“Yup.” He nods. I immediately recognize a certain restlessness in him, for whatever reason, he’s giddy.

“Okay, what’s going on?”

“I have something for you,” he says excitedly.

“What is it?”

He leans forward. “You won’t believe it.”

“Well, will you tell-”

“Darry lied.” 

“About what?”

He nearly laughs as he reaches into his jean’s pocket. He takes a quick look around, making sure the house is empty, and reveals a piece of paper to me, crinkled and folded. He slowly opens it up and I can make out some rushed writing. I glance over it, not bothering to read a word, and feel a lightning bolt strike me as I notice what’s scribbled at the bottom of the page.

“Pony-”

“It’s Dally’s letter to Darry.”

“I can see that.”

His face falls once he notices my expression. “You’re not happy.”

“Did you think I would be?”

“Yes, but-”

“This is none of my business, Pony. You had no right to go through your brother’s stuff and-”

“Listen!” He cuts me off sharply. “Just listen, okay? I saw your face when we were talking about the letter and I felt so bad. So I kept asking Darry about it, hoping he had some information he didn’t mention, and he just acted kind of suspicious. So I snooped around, and I wasn’t even looking for it-fine, maybe I was-I snooped around and I found it. And I read it. Trust me, you want to read this because-no! You do-because Darry lied. Dallas did mention your wedding!”

My mind short circuits. "He did?"

Pony nods vigorously. "Yeah, he really did."

I can feel my body lean into him involuntarily, the table creaks under my arms as I shift forward. "Well, why would Darry lie?"

He taps the paper a few times. "That's what the letter's for."

My eyebrows knit together, I begin to chew on my bottom lip. "Are you gonna read it to me?"

"Of course I am."

"Uh," I shake my head and calm my nerves. "Alright, okay. "

Pony clears his throat and lifts the letter to better read it. "'Dear Darry, I've been alright lately-'"

I hold up my hands. "Woah woah woah, stop!"

"What?"

"Don't read the whole letter, that's his personal business."

"So you don't want to know how Dallas has been?"

"Well, I shouldn't know."

“...”

“Fine, read it.”

He smiles with triumph. “Okay. ‘Dear Darry, I've been alright lately. You know how life is here, fast but kind of boring. I don't really have anything to talk about other than I found a new restaurant around the corner, it's cheap and pretty delicious. The job's weighing on me, my joints are all cramped and hurting. I remember you always had stuff at your house to fix that. Maybe if I keep up the work I'll have enough money to get a massage or something.’”

My ears are burning. I'm aware, deep down, that this isn't information I'm supposed to know. I feel as if I'm intruding on Dallas's privacy, and it's almost sickening to me.

And yet… I also feel happy. Happy that I know how he's doing, happy that he's safe. Happy that life is going a little bit okay for him. 

Pony licks his lips and lifts up a finger. “Now this is where your wedding comes up. ‘So, the topic I've been trying to avoid. Johnny's getting married, huh? Well, that's good news. Is it the same chick he was dating before I left? Probably is. He would never dump her, and she was too lovesick to break up with him. Sounds like his life is going well, that's good to hear. A kid like that, with the kind of life he's had, he deserves to be happy. It's still weird though.’”

'A kid like that', it's been so long and he still thinks of me the same way he used to. It’s ironic, after everything we've been through together, after everything I’ve done. I guess he just can’t let go of that image in his mind.

It’s kind of pathetic how sweet I find that thought.

“‘But,’” Pony continues with a shaky voice, “‘I just can’t make it. I wouldn’t be able to go. You know why. Don’t tell anyone about what I said, please? If he asks, I guess if he cares, just say I didn’t mention anything. Glad that parts over with. I’m sure I’ll hear from you-’”

“Wait!” I jump up from my seat. “Wait! Stop! What the fuck was that?”

“What?” Pony asks, shocked at my sudden reaction.

“What the fuck does that mean? He can’t make it? Is there a lot of traffic where he lives or something?”

He snaps his fingers and grins wildly. “That’s exactly my point, Johnny, that’s it! They’re obviously both hiding something! If it was something as simple as traffic, well then why would he ask Darry to lie to you? And what does Darry know that he apparently can’t mention in the letter? It’s so suspicious and there’s obviously something going on behind the scenes!”

My mind starts clouding itself with slippery worms. They’re roaming all over, hiding in the creases and cracks of my brain, moving so much I’m getting a headache. So many questions and so many feelings, reality feels too far away and all I think about is him. Dallas. Dallas with blonde hair and white teeth and cool eyes. Dallas drawing me in close, hugging me, patching me up. Smiling so softly. He’s all I can think about and soon I’m flooded with all of my memories of him.

And that’s when the emotions return. The butterflies, the longing, the aching, the hurting. It feels more real than the life I’m living. And I just want to cry. Over everything I could have had, everything I lost, everything I still want, everything I’ll never get.

And it’s all Dallas. The piece of shit who always knew what he meant to me. And he left. He fucking left.

I nearly scream in frustration. “Ugh! Fuck you, Ponyboy!”

He looks up at me with wide eyes, his victorious smile fading to nothingness. “What? What did I do?”

“You made me think of him! You brought him back into my life when I didn’t want him there! I wanted him far away and I didn’t want to remember that he wasn’t there when I needed him, but then he was, but then he wasn’t. But then he disappeared like he always does, but then he never came back! He never came back for me! And now I’m remembering everything! Everything he told me, everything he promised me, it’s all coming back. And he lied!”

I grip my chest tightly, feeling my heart thudding hard in my chest. Hot tears prick at my eyes and I try to blink them away, but they just fall. “He told me he would never hurt me! He told me to look in his eyes and trust him, he said that I was safe with him! He told me that he would never hurt me and he did! And the worst part is I don’t even know if it was his fault! I don’t know what I could’ve done to convince him to stay! I tried to be there for him and it was never enough! I just want to know what made him leave, I want to know how he felt about me, but now I’ll never know! I’ll never know because he’s gone and he doesn’t want to talk to me and he doesn’t want to mention it! He’s still playing all these mind games with me, he’s been stringing me along since I was a teenager and I’m still letting him! And he’s not even here!”

Pony only stares at me, silent as he watches me crumble into a mess over his kitchen table. There’s a loud beeping and he turns to the coffee machine. Slowly, he gets up and walks over to it, grabbing a mug to fill. As he pours he says, “I’m sorry. I never understand how far I push you until you just… explode.”

I wipe my wet face and sit down, pushing my head into my hands. “No, no, I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault, I’m acting like a little kid.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, when they open I can see a certain sadness in them. Guilt washes over me as he walks over to the table, setting the coffee mug down, I take it in my hands. He sighs. “There’s an address on the letter, Johnny.”

“What?”

“Dally’s address is on the letter,” he says. “You can know exactly where he lives. I looked at it, it’s somewhere in New York… You can find him.”

I’m too stunned to say anything. The offer tempts me, but I know that’s all it is, a temptation. I have no right to go anywhere near Dallas Winston. If he wants me then he wants me, but he doesn’t.

Pony continues. “You deserve to have your questions answered. You really do. You’re getting married and I know the last thing you need is to go into a marriage, a marriage you already don’t want, with all those thoughts. I know you need some happiness to make it last. And this-” he gestures to the letter in his hand, “-I know, now, that this won’t make you happy. But if you go to him, maybe you’ll finally be at peace.”

I shake my head softly. “Why are you doing this, Pony?”

“I was never there for you, Johnny. Your entire life you suffered and I was never able to help you. I know that this isn’t as dire as getting beaten to death by your family or whatever, but I want to make up for it. You were always there to make me feel okay. I was annoying, overbearing, overdramatic, but you never let me feel like a kid.” He chuckles. “You’ve always been too kind for that.”

“That’s not true,” I say. “Pony, I loved being around you. You had your flaws, you were a kid, I had a lot of fucking flaws too, we don’t need to talk about them. Don’t be so hard on yourself, it was a tough situation and you didn’t know what to do. But I loved you, I still do. I liked listening to what you had to say, and all your talks and you reading to me, you made me feel just as okay as anyone else, if not better.”

“See? You’re still being nice.”

I smile. “You’re my best friend. And you’re the only person in my life who has always been there for me. Cut yourself some slack, asshole.”

He laughs and fiddles with the letter in his hands. Hesitantly, he hands it over to me. “I think you should find him, before you get married.”

I stare at the paper for some time, contemplating the offer in my head. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. But is Pony right? Do I deserve peace after all I’ve done? Do I deserve happiness?

“I’ll think about it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings when Darry comes home. He reaches out to answer and Pony and I simultaneously yell, "Don't pick up!"

He freezes as the shrilling noise fills the house.

I deflate and bring a hand to my warm head. "It's Lisa. Pony told her he doesn't know where I am, she probably thinks he's lying."

Darry raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. "Well, he is lying."

We say nothing, we only glance at each other in silence.

"Why is he lying?"

"Johnny's having a bad day," Pony says firmly, speaking for me just like he used to back when we were kids. "Lisa doesn't really understand that and she won't help."

Darry sighs and rolls his eyes, taking off his jacket and strolling to the kitchen. "It's so weird. Sometimes I feel like you guys antagonize her, I don't know why."

Pony scoffs. "We don't antagonize her."

Darry opens the refrigerator, pulling out a large chocolate cake. "You belittle her intelligence."

"Yes we do," Pony says. "And her empathy."

"You ever think of not shitting on your friend's fiance?"

"He's not stopping me."

Darry turns to me. "You aren't stopping him."

I sink further into the couch. "I'm not in the mood."

"Not in the mood to talk. Not in the mood to see your future wife. What are you in the mood for, Johnny?"

“I think we need to have a talk,” I say abruptly.

Pony freezes in place, knowledge is evident in his eyes. Darry puts his slice of chocolate cake down, licking the frosting that resides on his fingers. He shrugs. “Okay, Johnny, what do you wanna talk about?”

I take in a deep breath, my fingers begin to fidget. “Do you think you and Pony can have a seat?”

“I don’t really think I should be a part of this conversation.”

“Pony, please sit down.”

"Shit," he mumbles, trailing behind Darry and plopping himself on the couch, much less hesitant than his older brother-whose eyebrows are dropped in confusion.

"What's going on?" He asks.

I painfully tear my gaze away from my hands, looking him straight in the eyes. I inhale sharply through my nose before I say, "Darry, Pony and I went through your stuff." A breath for confidence. "And we found the letter Dallas wrote to you."

"Ah-" He doesn't say anything in response, he just makes this sort of gasping sound. He stays silent for a while, looking between me and his brother and back and forth over and over again. His eyes begin to shift and I see the anger manifest in his face. "Pony-"

He rolls his eyes. "Of course you're gonna blame me."

Darry turns to me. "-Johnny! Do you guys not have any personal boundaries? Do you not respect privacy? I can't even begin to tell you how wrong what you did was! I shouldn't have to tell you, it's obvious. You're not children!"

I feel my fingers move around uncomfortably and sweat collect at the nape of my neck. It's hard getting yelled at, which is a bit of an embarrassment. Especially when I know I've done wrong, but my body reacts like a trembling rabbit facing it's predator. I can't control it but I do my best to hide it.

I try to agree verbally, but what I say comes out as a soft mumble, "I know."

"I'm trying to understand what made you do this! There's no reason I could possibly think of, none!"

Pony opens his mouth defensively then closes it. His gaze shifts to me and, again, there's that spark in his eyes. "Do you wanna tell him or should I?"

I tense up. "Tell him what?"

"Why we read the letter."

"Oh." I scratch my neck and shrug. "I mean, there's not much to say. He's right, we shouldn't have done that, it was wrong-"

Pony waves his hands. "Stop deflecting! Just tell him, this is an important conversation we all need to have."

Darry pauses. "What conversation?"

I say nothing.

"Johnny, what conversation?'

"I just-" I start, then I stop. I'm not sure what to say. I quickly wonder what words I could use to explain… how I feel, what I'm thinking. "Well, I was a bit upset when I heard that Dallas didn't say anything about my wedding. So, um, we kind of just took it upon ourselves to read the letter, I don't know why."

"But there's more to it," Pony says firmly. "Like the fact that you were lying."

Darry pales. "What do you mean, lying?"

"Lying! Dallas asked you to lie and you did and we just wanna know why!"

"Well," he crosses his arms. "I can't tell you why."

My entire body begins to buzz, I start to feel restless and I look up at Darry with wild eyes. "What do you mean, you can't tell us?"

He bites his lips. "There's stuff I'm not allowed to say."

"Why?" Pony asks.

"Because, it's not my place to say it. Unlike you two, I know how to mind my own business."

Pony's lips twist in a kind of smile, almost like a light bulb lit over his head. "So you and Dallas are hiding something."

"I wouldn't say hiding-"

"Why can't I know about it?" I find myself asking.

"Because, it's not our place. It's not my secret to tell."

Pony repeats in a gentle whisper, "Secret."

I bury my face in my hands. "This is the problem! I just wanted some of my questions answered but now I have even more questions and I can't take it! I'm so confused and I don't understand anything, and now I'll never understand because he doesn't want to talk to me."

I lean back on the couch, pulling my legs up and hugging them. "I really don't want to go into a marriage with all these questions… but maybe that's the point. I wanted closure but maybe I have to learn that, sometimes, people just can't give that to me. I'm never going to see Dallas again, he's never going to answer my questions, and I just have to be okay with that. Maybe that's the secret to what I'm looking for, I don't know." I sigh. "I'm just so confused, and tired, and I don't want to be here anymore."

There's no noise as I sulk, just contemplative silence. It gives me time to relish the complete and utter quiet of not having people yelling or screaming at me. Just my own self in the comfort of my thoughts. I take the time to decompress breath by breath, maybe Pony and Darry do the same.

I feel a sudden shadow over me, and then Darry's large hand on my shoulder. He sits next to me slowly, pulling me into a gentle side-hug. I awkwardly lean into him. "I'm sorry, Johnny. I wish I could help you."

"Yeah," I say.

We stay like that for some time before Ponyboy stands up, grabbing our attention. "I already told you, Johnny. Just go find him, it's that easy and you'll feel better."

I lift my head off of Darry's shoulder and groan. "Pony, he doesn't wanna see me. I'll just feel worse and awkward and… terrible. It's a terrible idea, and I don't want to disrespect his privacy."

"Actually," Darry says, his tone no longer distant or melancholy. "I don't think it's that bad of an idea."

Pony and I stare at him with our jaws dropped to the floor. I search his eye's for a hint of sarcasm, a semblance of a joke. When I find none, I feel like my heart has finally stopped. In the ups and downs of months of engagement, this is the moment that might just break me.

"What?" Pony says, almost breathlessly.

Darry shrugs. "I mean, it's not the best idea but it's not the worst."

I begin to stutter and I have to shake my head before I can finally comprehend my thoughts, too incredulous to form any actual words. "Wait, but, Darry, you of all people should know that he doesn't want to see me."

"Johnny, it's not that he doesn't want to see you, he probably does."

My eyebrows furrow. "Well, then, why doesn't he want to come to my wedding?"

Darry purses his lips. "It's complicated, Johnny."

"It's really not."

"No, it is. And I hope you don't think that he hates you or something."

"He doesn't?"

"No." He almost laughs. "Johnny, it's nothing like that. He has a lot going on in his life right now and, I don't know, maybe a visit would make him feel better? All I know is that he wouldn't hate seeing you. It might make him happy, it might make you happy. And lord knows the both of you need to sit down and communicate."

I bite the inside of my cheek. There's a stubborn part of me that almost refuses to believe him. All I can think of is the near decade I spent crying and asking myself over and over again what I did wrong. It's not easy to accept the idea of some bigger picture, not with all the wasted opportunities and the useless lies. Not with the cryptic motivations that give me no reason to forgive and forget. "You know, we could have communicated for the past nine years."

Darry rolls his shoulders and sighs. "I'm not saying he's made the best decisions either. But… you guys meeting up again, that might be a step in the right direction."

"Finally," Pony says making his way towards the couch, smiling bright and eagerly."My brother and I agree on something."

"Don't be dramatic."

I sit up. My mind's reeling with a million feelings and thoughts and they all pass by too quickly for me to grasp them. I feel as if I'm stuck in the middle of a mental twister. "Wait wait wait, are you two actually telling me I should go visit Dallas in New York? Actually?"

"Sure," Darry says.

"And you should do it before you get married."

"What?" Darry asks. "That doesn't sound like a very good idea, he's getting married pretty soon. In a few weeks, right?"

I feel like vomiting.

"Exactly," Pony says. "He said it himself, he doesn't want to go into it with all these questions. What's he going to do? Go to New York instead of having a honeymoon? No, he should go before he gets married so he's finally at peace."

"I think I'm gonna go," I say, standing up so abruptly that I feel my brain turn into mush. I have to stop by the door and put one hand on my head and one on my stomach, I feel something coming up. Maybe I'll vomit if I make any sudden movements. So I stand still for a while, feeling Pony's and Darry's burning eyes watching me. "Yeah, I'm gonna go."

"Johnny," Darry calls behind me, just before I move my hand. 

I turn to him, still feeling the ache in my throat and my gut.

He smiles softly. "Just think about it."

I nod, turning the doorknob and letting the cold air hit my hot skin. "Yeah, sure, I will."

And I'm out of the house and into the darkness. I groan loudly and bend over, putting my hands on my knees--staying in that weird position for longer than I'd like to admit, just to stop the acid in my mouth. Then I stand up and begin to walk, ignoring my car that's parked in the Curtis's driveway. 

For some reason, my feet lead me to the lot I used to stay at as a kid. A million emotions flood me once I land there. They punch at my brain and my stomach and finally I just throw up, on the spot. It feels fitting.


	6. Suitcases & Vomit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's 3am and I'm tired. I will promise my readers this, you WILL get the content you're hoping for in the next chapter, you just WILL

My mind is made up as soon as Lisa says, "Three more weeks till the big day."

That's when I start to pack.

My carry-on is filled with picture frames, clothes, and bathroom essentials. I dump them all out on the floor and decide I should travel light, I don't plan on staying there for too long. So I fold a few pants, shirts, and stuff some shoes in the leftover space. I feel crazy the entire time, wondering if something came over me.

My parents sure think so.

"A trip?" My father asks.

His voice is rising. My neck begins to burn and I can't look in his eyes.

"Johnny," he continues, "you're getting married in three weeks. This isn't time for a little vacation."

My mother's sitting next to me on their couch. She notices my hand is shaking and slips hers over it, squeezing gently to calm my nerves. I'm thankful, I would feel embarrassed if my father saw me getting so worked up.

I clear my throat and search for a semblance of courage, only to help me speak without stuttering. "We already have everything planned. There's a caterer, RSVP's are coming in, everything's set."

My father stares at me firmly. I want to avert my gaze, but he would say something about it. So I painfully look back at him. "This is time you should be spending with your future wife, Johnny. What's the point of this trip?"

"Uh-" I feel sweat over my lip, under my armpits, everywhere. My hands would be fumbling if they weren't being held by my mother. "I'm visiting a friend."

His eyebrows raise. "A friend?"

"Yes," I say. "I want to make sure that he can make it to the wedding, or if he can't, I want to know why."

"Why can't this friend just RSVP?" My father asks.

"We never sent him a proper invitation."

"Who is this friend?" My mother chimes in beside me. I turn to her face, gentle but still stern. There's a bit of worry etched on her brow.

"Um, well, just a childhood friend." I give her a weak smile. "You remember how close my friends and I were, it would be nice if he could make it."

Her lips purse. "Mijo, ya sabes, you know I never liked your friends. Just that Ponyboy kid, he stayed out of trouble."

"I agree with your mother." His tone is uptight, defensive. The anger he's begun to manifest over the years is different from the one I'm used to. "'A childhood friend.' Sounds like someone who'd ruin your wedding."

"Dad," I say. "We've all grown up. We were stupid when we were younger, but we're different now."

"Who is he?" My father asks firmly. His tone makes my nerves spike.

My mom grips my hand tighter.

"Uh, well-"

"Johnny, don't bullshit me, boy. Who is he?"

My body is begging to fidget but I'm trapped by my mother's hands. My foot starts tapping softly. "You-you probably don't remember him."

"Who, mijo?" My mom says quietly.

"Uh… Dallas. Dallas Winston."

The room is quiet, eerily quiet. My mother's lips purse and she turns away. I can see the judgement in her eyes. My father only looks at me intently, his hands squeezing the fabric covering his hips.

"That delinquent from New York?"

"Uh," I stutter, "well… yes-"

"Is that where you're going now? New York?"

Lying to my parents is painful, I've only tried it a few times in my life and I utterly failed. There's no point in trying to make up some bullshit now, I'll be judged just the same. 

"Yes," I say firmly. Or as firmly as I can.

"You already know how I feel about this," my father says. "I don't agree with it, I won't encourage it."

"I know."

"Then why, Johnny? Why?"

Maybe he's shouting, maybe it's just my imagination.

I take in a deep breath and relax my shoulders. I feel weak, useless-like a scared sixteen year old boy who's good for nothing but running away. Away from my parents, away from my reality, away from my marriage. For once I feel like I'm running towards something, and I won't let anyone, not even my parents take this feeling away from me.

"Because I'm an adult dad," I say, hardening my voice.

My mother shifts beside me. Her fear transfers like a wave over to me and my body is about to collapse again, fearful of my father's reaction. I shouldn't have said anything. I should have just left it at that.

But he only nods, maybe even in defeat. He lifts his hands from his hips, holding them up like surrender, and simply says, "Okay, Johnny. You're an adult now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Dallas Winston?" Lisa repeats as I zip up my carry-on. 

"Ah, wait!" She stops my hand and rushes to the restroom, returning with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and the little comb she bought for me. "Don't forget these," she laughs awkwardly, "I know how much you like your personal hygiene."

I nod. "Thank you."

She bites her bottom lip. "Did you pack your deodorant?"

"Yes, I did."

"And your lotion?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Well, which one?" There's this tone in her voice and I know she's about to ramble. "Because there's the lavender one that I bought since it smells really good, but then there's the honey one you really like. Did you pack some cologne? I know you love your cologne."

"Lisa," I say, laughing. "I'm checking up on a friend, this isn't a business meeting."

"Well, I know, but-" one of her fingers plays with the other, and I notice the furrow in her brow, "-you always feel more comfortable when you look nice and smell nice, and I'm sure in a foreign place like New York you'll wanna be comfortable."

"Thank you for worrying about me," I say, quickly double checking the items in my suitcase. "But I'll be fine."

She sighs deeply and runs her fingers through her long hair. "Dallas Winston?"

I try my best to suppress a groan. "Yes, honey."

"I just," she continues, "I never really liked him, Johnny. When we were younger I was dead scared of him. I heard the worst stories about him, but you told me that he was a good guy secretly and I believed you. But then he just left, without so much as saying goodbye to his best friend, and you were devastated for months. I don't know if this is the best idea, for you, I mean. What if he hurts you again? I don't want you to get married with that same, painful feeling-"

"Lisa," I say, "he can't be that bad of a person. I mean, sure he may have hurt me but we all know who I am. Can you really judge him when you're about to marry a murderer?"

Her face darkens and she places her hands on my shoulders, twisting my body to meet her eyes perfectly. "Johnny Cade, you are not a murderer, you were never a murderer. You were a poor boy who was mistreated by society because of your class and race and you acted in self defense to save your friend and yourself, only after you had been viciously harassed and attacked by those same people. And those people testified for you to make it clear that you did what had to be done, and you served no time. Not to mention you made up for it by saving a church full of kids-"

"I don't know if anything can make up for taking someone's life, sweetheart-"

"Listen to me," she says firmly, "I would never, ever, marry an evil person. My parents would never let me marry an evil person. You are good and your past is unfortunate but not unforgivable, how else would I have been able to fall in love with you?"

“I-” I purse my lips and sigh, forcing a small smile on my face for her sake. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Johnny,” she says, sliding her arms around my neck and kissing me gently, “I know you’re a good person, I don’t know if he is, though.”

“Are you worried he’s gonna ruin the wedding?”

She pulls away from me and scrunches her face, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “That’s not my concern here, Johnathen. I’m not superficial like that.”

“I never said you were-”

“It’s like you can’t even accept I care about you.” She throws her hands up and scoffs. “Ever since I met I’ve noticed it. I’ve noticed that whenever someone shows you affection or attention you just can’t handle it. You always assume that they have some ulterior motive. You’re so-” she shuts her eyes tightly and takes in a deep breath, silent for a moment as if she’s searching for words to say, “-cautious. You’re so cautious, already. It’s hard for you to trust people and I don’t want that guy to fuck you up again!”

I drum my fingers against my leg, unsure of what to say. Maybe Darry was right, maybe I do belittle Lisa’s intelligence. I didn’t think that she could see through me like that, I didn’t think she cared enough to.

A chuckle escapes my throat, I can’t help myself. Lisa frowns when she hears it, turning away sadly. “I’m glad that my feelings are a joke to you, Johnathen.”

“No no,” I walk towards her slowly, laughing more with every step. “It’s not that, it’s just that I never hear you swear."

When I reach out to her she leans into the touch, pressing her head against my chest. Her lips are still twisted in a pout and her eyebrows are still casted low, but she's desperate for warmth. "Well, I'm upset, Johnathen."

"I can tell, you keep saying my full name."

"It's not a joke."

"I never said it was." I lick my lips and hesitantly press them to her head. She breathes out dreamily and nuzzles my chin with her nose. I do my best to smile, though she can't even see it. "I know you love me."

It's the truth, I know she does. That's what makes everything worse. That's what makes me hate myself even more.

She pecks my cheek and grins gently. "Just be careful out there, okay? I want us both to be in good spirits when we get married. So we can have a long, happy life ahead of us."

The only word my mind focuses on is "long." A long marriage. Forever and ever and ever.

“Can you make me a promise?”

“Sure, honey.”

Her eyes are wide and trusting, her cheeks a gentle rose blush. I look at her sometimes and wonder if this is what I looked like as a kid--if this is what people saw when they glanced my way. Fragile, hopeful, an innocent smile. And an aura, something about it, so delicate and special that makes you want to protect it. I hated when people tried to help me, when they rushed to my defense, but that’s the kind of attention Lisa loves, maybe the one she craves. “Promise me that when you come back, we can work on the baby?”

“...”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but you know how much I want this. I love you.” 

“Of course, sweetheart.”

All I want is to run.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ponyboy leans over the seat and pats my back. "You don't know how proud I am, Johnny."

"Pony," Darry says in a testing voice, his eyes never leaving the road ahead of him. "Why isn't your seatbelt on?"

"It is." He retreats to the backseat and hastily covers himself with the band, inserting it into the buckle. "It just stretches, is all."

Darry rolls his eyes in exasperation but doesn't hold on to the feeling for too long. After a while, his lips curve into a tiny smile. "I am happy for you, though. This is going to be a great trip."

I just nod. For the past 30 minutes of the drive I've tried to shut my brain off. Until the airplane lands in New York, I'm doing my best to only observe and not think. Thinking is dangerous, obscene, and cause for caution.

I've imagined a plethora of scenarios for when I see Dallas again, each one more vomit inducing than the last. Not to mention the weird daydreams that cross all the boundaries I could think of. My mind has no filter or limits and that's the last thing I need today. Mental mania.

I've realized that when I just listen to Darry and Pony's banter and look at the neighboring cars speeding by, my gut doesn't twist and turn as often.

"Aren't you excited, Johnny?" Pony asks from behind.

"Uh-huh," I say through gritted teeth. I wonder who I'm lying to more at the moment, them or myself.

"It's okay to be nervous," Darry says. "You haven't seen each other in years."

I don't need the reminder. I don't need to overthink about my future exchange with him. I don't need to think about what I'll say or do, or how awkward it'll be, or how I have no way of explaining myself.

In all of my scenarios, I always skip through this one scene.

"Johnny? What are you doing here?" He'll ask.

How do I reply?

"How about we talk about your personality and interests, first?"

"Do you like coffee? I've become addicted to caffeine."

"How often do you have sex? Unfortunately, I have it about 4 times a month, with hardly any exceptions."

Do I just answer him? Honestly?

"I'm here because I need to know: why don't you want to come to my wedding? I read your letter, disrespected your privacy, and I am now demanding to know the meaning behind your cryptic wording for no reason other than I want to."

I don't have the guts to do that, I don't even think I have the right to do that. I'm convinced that I'm going down a path I shouldn't be going down, that I'm forcing myself into a situation I shouldn't be in. Wherever I am, I just don't belong here.

But it's too late. I booked the hotel, I have the ticket, I'm in the car to the airport. I can't go back.

And if I don't go then I'm stuck here. Stuck with the constant reminder of my torturous existence. Stuck with the hole I've dug myself in, the lie that I've perfected for years and still haven't fully become. 

I've created two very different realities with two very drastic conclusions, both terrifying and unlivable.

I haven't wanted to die since I was 16, but I'm starting to remember the appeal. Is that psychotic? Is that deranged? All I know is that I've passed the point of mental stability, not in this car, not on this trip.

I'm having my midlife fucking crisis at twenty-seven and it's because I'm queer. 

Darry's soothing voice floats above my thoughts, interrupting my internal turmoil. "Just remember, he wants to see you too. But he's Dallas, so he won't show it."

Pony pipes up again from the backseat. "Did you write him that Johnny was coming?"

Darry shrugs. "I did, hopefully it shows up in his mail."

God, what if I just show up unannounced at his doorstep? He'll have no idea what I'm doing but I'll be there. 

Will he still remember me? Of course he will, but, will he recognize me? Am I the same person who he once knew, or will I be too different to be true? Too realistic, too down to earth, no longer the dreamer who asked him if he would take the time to look at the stars with me. 

All I have from my past is my scar, it's the one thing I can't erase. And I could if I would, I hate everything about my former life. I hate the pathetic, useless person that I once was. And, above all, I hate what I used to believe in.

But I used to believe in him. And yet, here I am. Getting ready to look him in the eyes again, and ask for another chance. One more time to prove that I am worth something, and maybe then he'll regret having left.

Maybe there’s still a part of me left inside myself, and maybe there’s still of part of him/.

"Johnny?" 

"Yeh, Pony?"

"Are you nervous or excited? I can't tell cuz you're shaking."

"Oh, Jesus," I say glancing at my trembling hand. I shove it under my leg and will my feet not to tap the floor of the car. "I'm fine."

"It's okay to be nervous," Darry says.

"I'm fine."

"It's been a while," he continues, "you don't know what's in store, it's an adventure."

"Darry, I'm okay-"

"Maybe," Pony exclaims, "you could convince him to come to your wedding after!"

"Shit!" I yell. "Shit! Shit! Darry roll down the window!"

"Wait, what?"

"Roll down the-FUCK!"

The sound of the car swerving fills my ears as I roll over, as well as Pony's and Darry's screams.

"Holy shit, Johnny! My car!"

"What did you eat today, man?!"

"That's disgusting!"

"I-I'm sorry," I mumble and try to wipe the vomit off my chin, but then I'm doubling over again.

"FUCK!"

I apologize once we arrive at the airport, sheepishly clutching the paper bag Darry happened to have in the trunk, avoiding eye-contact with the mess I made in the passenger seat. 

"It's alright," Darry sighs. "I needed to wash it out, anyways."

I feel heat rush to my face. "Again, I'm sorry."

Pony looks over me and puts his hand on my shoulders, beckoning my eyes to meet his. "Hey, are you sure you're okay? I don't want you to be stressed."

"I'm fine," I say, mentally wiping the past hour from my mind. "Those were just nerves, jitters. Once I'm up in the air I'll be fine."

I don't know if it's true, but it's some nice reassurance. For both Pony and myself.

Darry hands me my carry-on and smiles. "Well, whatever happens just know you can call us or mail us or… yeah." He chuckles lightly and pulls me into a big hug. "Sometimes, I really do make the mistake of looking at you like the same little kid, it's hard to know that you're a whole man now. Making your own decisions, getting married-"

"Yeah," I say, pulling away quickly, doing my best to forget about that last part. "I'm kind of hoping to enter the next stage of my life as a new person. I feel like the best way to do that is to seal the past."

"Seal the past," Darry repeats cheerfully, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Well," Pony says, "I'll still love you no matter who you are. And I'll miss you too, so-" he practically manhandles me into an embrace, I laugh but throw my arms around him, "-stay safe and don't do anything illegal, Johnny."

"I won't, I promise," I say as Pony lets go of me.

Darry waves his finger and smiles. "Now we mean it, young man. No trouble while you're up there."

I chuckle and grip my carry-on tighter. "I promise no funny business."

We laugh together for a bit and stay in a strange formation. Three men looking at each other, all in the middle of a bustling airport. I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I’ll miss them, the people who never left me and never will. For a strange reason, it makes me the slightest bit emotional. Especially considering the memories I'll have to revisit in New York, around the man who most deeply influenced my former life.

Darry sighs. "Come on, one more hug for the road?"

Pony and I shrug and we all embrace one last time.


	7. i'm one of those authors i guess

For reasons beyond my control, this story must be discontinued and orphaned. I am merely a girl who lives with my parents, I must succumb to my authorities. So I've been disenchanted with this story for quite some time now, maybe this is a good thing??? This break seems like it's permanent but everyone is insisting to me that I'll return at some point. If I ever do return, maybe that break from writing and taking time away from this story will allow me to have motivation again. Thank you everyone for your kind comments and concerns, and yeah I get if you're upset I kind of am too. I had a whole chapter ready and I was just too insecure to post it. You know what. I'm gonna do that rn. I don't like the chapter at all but you all came here for one reason, to see Johnny and Dally reunite. I might as well give ya that. After that, I must be gone.


	8. Last Chapter for Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's what you've been waiting for

My mind has finally turned on. After wasting away the past hours in a zombie-like trance, I’m finally aware of my reality. It’s all setting in.

It’s like I’m in a different dimension. Three months ago, I wouldn’t dream of being here. Three months ago, this was the opposite of what I wanted. My mind was consumed with Lisa, in a safe environment where I was secure and settled. But now, I’m face to face with a distraction, an obstacle to my future, all I’ve ever wished for. It’s the last thing I need. 

There’s something so unsettling about being here. The last decade of my life has been so certain, consistent, there were no wrong turns or roads to take, they all led to the same place. But here… I have no fucking idea what I’m doing. I have no idea what to do. I have no idea what the ending of this story will be.

I want this chapter of my life to be closed, that’s why I’m here, to seal it shut. But as I stand awkwardly, staring at a crinkled paper and looking hopelessly lost in a foreign city, I realize that I’m only reopening it.

The past is surging through me in crashing waves. The scars on my body, the memories, the emotions, and Dallas. Dallas taking over my mind like a virus, just as he did when I was teenager. I feel hopeless again, I feel lost. 

I’m realizing that this was a mistake.

I can ditch this apartment complex, run down the stairs and haul a cab. Get a ride to my hotel, spend the night there, call Ponyboy and cry to him, tell him I regret everything. I can do it all now. I can avoid this crushing uncertainty. 

All I have to do is take a breath and go.

Go.

Leave like he did.

The thought of that feels me with energy, electricity. Something like rage that slowly and surely morphs into a type of courage. If I run, then I’m scared again. I’m acting like a child, the child I used to be. I don’t want to be that demure, pushover ever again.

And yet… the last time I decided to face my problems head on, it didn’t end well.

God, this must be a mistake.

I take another look at the paper in my hands, the one Darry wrote his address on. The apartment number is smudged at the very end, but it’s enough to tell me what floor he’s on, where he could be. I’m standing in front of his door, hand hovering by my thigh, it’s shaking and wondering. Wondering if it has the courage to knock.

I don’t want to. Except I do.

Or else I wouldn’t be here.

I take in a deep breath through my nose, lifting my trembling fist. I stop right before my knuckles touch the metal, the wind knocking right out of my lungs. There’s no real reason for me to be here, is there? My body is aching, begging me to go home. I don’t belong here. He doesn’t want to see me.

Dallas, I think.

And then I think again, of him. I want to see him, I really do. I want to know him. I want to smell him. 

Another inhale, powerful and cleansing. And then I move. Knock, knock, knock.

I take a step back, adjusting my posture and trying to stand taller. It doesn’t take long to hear a click behind the door. A creak, some cryptic darkness as it swings open. I’m suffocating on anticipation. I can see the silhouette of a body and then-

A woman, with dark skin and short, black hair. 

Maybe she’s his girlfriend. Doesn’t seem like his type, but his taste may have developed over the years.

She crosses her arms and cocks her head to the side. “Can I help you?”

“Uh,” I stutter, shaking my head and looking for words. “Um, I’m looking for Dallas Winston, do you know if he lives in this apartment comp-”

She interrupts me by stretching her arm out, pointing to a door across the hall. “He lives over there.”

My heart drops, almost like I’m realizing that he’s real, he’s not just a figment of my imagination.

I swallow, my spit is thick, my throat is dry. “He does?”

The woman raises a confused eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“Okay, uh.” I nod dumbly, eyes wide, and turn on my heels. “Okay. Tha-thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” she says, perplexed, slowly shutting the door as I move away.

Jesus Christ, I think. I can’t tell if my mind is short circuiting or moving at a hundred miles an hour or blanking. Maybe I’m just thinking in colors, and there are flashes of light in my brain. I feel like I’m about to have a stroke, or pass out, or something. 

I’m in front of his door, his actual door now. And everything is more real than I thought it could be. He’s there.

The guy who I… 

How can I ever face him? How can I muster the courage?

But I’m already here. And those are the words I repeat as I raise my fist, knock on his door proudly, and straighten my back. I’m not shying away, I’m not cowering. I’m here whether he likes it or not and I’m not going away.

I have questions, I want answers.

I want him.

The door opens, and I immediately regret everything. I wonder if I can run away in time, just before he has the chance to see me. My feet are already turning, my body’s twisting, I’m about to go.

“Uh, hello?” A man asks.

He’s pale, and shorter than I am. There’s a mop of light brown hair on his head, freckles doting his exposed skin, and part of him is covered by a long, oversized shirt.

I’m dumbstruck. This isn’t Dallas.

“Huh,” I say. “Uh, sorry to bother you. I asked this woman across the hall for Dallas Winston, but…” I pout my lips and mumble, “I guess he’s not here either.”

The man’s face falls, his eyes immediately darken. “Dallas?”

“Uh… yeah?”

He glowers, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. “That asshole, he told me he was single.”

I feel my stomach plunge and my heart stop. “What?”

The man massages his head and sighs in frustration. “I’m so sorry, I swear I didn’t know.”

My body begins to fail me, my tongue is paralyzed. I’m a bumbling idiot as I try to piece together this sudden information. “Uh, wait, I don’t know if you and I are talking about-”

"Dallas!" He yells over his shoulder.

There's a loud thumping in my chest, it burns. I'm about to have a panic attack. Or go into cardiac arrest. "Wait! Wait stop!"

He keeps on screaming, cupping his hands over his mouth. "Dallas, you fat fuckface! Come out here!"

As he pushes further inside, still yelling, I follow after him. Begging him to stop. "Please, you don't have to do this, you're misunderstanding why-"

"Dallas!"

"What?" A familiar voice grunts.

I freeze. Oh God. Oh Fuck.

I'm not ready.

He walks into the living room where we stand, coming out of a small hallway. He's eating a bowl of cereal and adjusting the zipper of his jeans, with the same strong hands that belong to the same long arms--only they're now slightly sunkissed, and even bulkier. His chest is bare, no shirt to cover his long torso and toned abdomen, but there's a fair amount of blonde curls everywhere. And his hair, it's shorter than it's ever been. He used to hate cutting it, but it's so cropped and trimmed--falling over his forehead just so.

I'm flabbergasted, I physically can't speak.

Dallas is right there.

He stops cold when he sees me, his whole body freezing in place. But his hands must slip and the bowl of cereal crashes onto the floor, splattering milk everywhere.

"Johnny?" He asks breathlessly.

I open my mouth, nothing comes out. Not a word, or a peep, or a squeak.

Maybe… 

Maybe I should say something-

"You asshole!" The man in the large shirt says.

Dallas's eyes seem to register reality as he looks over to him, there's a significant amount of confusion on his face. "W-what?"

"I asked you if you had a boyfriend or a girlfriend and you told me you were single!" The man slips off his shirt and tosses it in Dally's face. I turn away until I realize that he has shorts on.

He stomps off into the hallway, leaving us alone for a moment. We only stare at each other in silence. Even when Dallas tries to say a word, he can't bring himself to defeat the silence. We have nothing to say to each other.

The man returns to the living room, pulling a shirt over his head and marching out the door. He lifts a middle finger to Dallas before he pushes past me, muttering something about dishonest men as he rushes down the stairs of the complex.

Again, Dallas and I are alone.

Our eyes bore into each other, I can't bear the intensity of his stare.

I tuck in my chin, focus on the floor, and force myself to speak. "I-"

"Jesus Christ," Dallas swears.

I look up to see him running nervous hands through his hair. He reaches down to pick up the discarded shirt, putting it on with shaking fingers. 

"Christ," he says again.

"Um… hi," I say nervously.

His jaw sets, his hands are on his hips. He doesn't look happy. "Hi."

I look for something to say, I end up repeating, "Hi."

He shakes his head. "Look, what you saw, I…" His voice trails off helplessly, he turns away and bites his lip.

"Yeah." My voice is trembling. "Yeah, um, I didn't know that about you."

His head snaps to me.

Shit.

"Uh, yeah, I won't tell anyone."

He makes his way to wear I'm standing, with swift paces and anger in his eyes. I begin to shake where I'm standing, regretting every word that's escaped my mouth, regretting coming here. 

"I'm sor-"

He shuts the door behind me, face not meeting mine, almost like he's purposefully avoiding my gaze. Then he steps back and crosses his arms, his body's so stiff. I remember the letter suddenly, and what he said about his job hurting his muscles.

He finally glances at me. "Hey."

I feel out of place here. I feel lost. I feel so unlike myself, and like myself all at once. This nervousness, this chill in my bones… this is how I felt when I first met him. 

"Hey," I say, voice still wobbling.

It looks like he's mouthing invisible words, his face is scrunching up and his eyebrows are furrowed. "I-wha-uh… what are you doing here?"

Oh God.

Oh Jesus fuck.

It's the dreaded question.

"Um," I say. "Uh, well, it's a long story."

He only stares at me.

"It's a really long story. Maybe we should talk about it over coffee."

"Coffee?' He repeats in an incredulous tone. The way he's looking at me, up and done, so judgmental, it makes me feel strange.

Dear God, there's a heat creeping up my neck, into my chest. I have to get rid of that as soon as possible. 

"Yeah, coffee."

He nods and eventually shrugs. "Okay, I have some coffee here."

He walks past me to the tiny kitchen connected to his living room, stepping over the mess of cereal and milk on the rug and muttering about how he'll fix that later. I blindly trail behind him, suddenly reminded of the puppy-owner power dynamic we had as teenagers. I detest that thought. I detest ever being that person--that stupid, that naive.

It reminds me why I landed at his doorstep, why I bought a ticket to this city.

"Actually," I say a little firmly, making sure I assert some sort of dominance, "I was talking about coffee elsewhere. Like a cafe, maybe?"

He stares at me for a moment before snorting in my face, chuckling lightly while opening a cabinet and taking out some coffee mix. "'Elsewhere.'"

My cheeks heat up. "Yeah, are there any places around here that we could-"

He turns around and gives me a firm look. "Look, princess, I don't have the money to be treating you to fancy places." He reaches into a dark corner on his counter, pulling out a rusty coffee machine. I nearly gag looking at it. "But I do have this, if that's okay with your highness."

I scoff. "What makes you think you'd pay for me?"

His smile falters for a moment, and his eyes soften as if he's realizing something.

He thought he was going to pay for me because… 

He always used to pay for me.

I try to stop my body from turning into jello, I try to remember how humiliating it feels to be somebody's pet. To constantly be protected and worried over. I try to remember how awful he made me feel when he left.

But then I just remember how he was the only person who made me feel okay.

I shake the thought away and sigh. "Well, I guess we can drink some coffee here. What kind of creamer do you have?"

He looks confused. "I don't have creamer."

My eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. "You don't have creamer?"

He shakes his head.

"You just drink your coffee black?"

He nods his head.

I take in a deep breath and exhale, slowly thinking about what to do. Wondering how I can find a way to explain everything to him in the process. "Is there a store nearby we can go to?"

"Uh," he scratches behind his ear, I remember how much he used to do that, I remember all his subtle fidgets, "yeah, just across the street."

"Okay," I say, "let's go."

"Let's go?" He repeats.

I shrug. "Why not? I'll buy some creamer and we can talk along the way."

He purses his lips. "Then will you explain why you're here?"

My nervous heart skips a beat. "Yes."

He nods his head slowly. "Okay… let me go get a jacket."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for this, guys, but it's out of my control. At least have this


End file.
